


Oblivious

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2254347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trouble with approaching your relationship the same way you approached your at-times contentious friendship is that apparently, no one realizes you’re actually dating. Or else Enjolras and Grantaire just have the absolute most oblivious of friends.</p>
<p>Or both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oblivious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JJ91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ91/gifts).



> The eminently wonderful JJ91 noted that it always seems to be Enjolras and Grantaire hiding their relationship and everyone finding out/figuring it out anyway, and she thought it’d be great if E/R weren’t hiding their relationship at all, and their friends just happen to be, well…oblivious.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Grantaire sighed heavily and drained his glass of wine before setting it down on the table with a satisfying thud. “Well, that’s the night for me, I suppose,” he said, to no one in particular, since Bossuet at his side was deep in a muttered conversation with himself as he scolded his own shoelaces for not staying tied (Bossuet often had conversations with inanimate objects, normally in exasperation for the various things they did to him, often, seemingly, of their own accord).

From across the room, Enjolras looked up and blinked at Grantaire, his brow furrowed slightly. “Leaving so soon?” he called, and the room — previously abuzz with conversation — seemed to hold its collective breath as it waited for Enjolras to scold Grantaire for leaving early without truly helping them, or something of that ilk.

Instead, Grantaire gave Enjolras a genuine and mostly non-sarcastic grin and shrugged. “I promised Joly I’d walk Bossuet home, since he lost a contact. And since he has to get home early for some bizarre reason, I, too, must excuse myself.”

Enjolras smiled back and shrugged. “Ok.” The room let out the breath it had been holding and conversation returned to normal, if slightly relieved that there wasn’t going to be  _another_  of Enjolras and Grantaire’s legendary fights. In fact, the conversation returned so rapidly that no one heard Enjolras tell Grantaire, “Let me walk with you part of the way.”

And no one was paying attention as Enjolras stood and grabbed his coat and walked out of the bar at Grantaire’s side behind Bossuet, their arms bumping into each other from how closely they were walking next to each other.

Bossuet, despite the whispered death-threats to his shoelaces earlier, was in a cheerful mood, and so walked briskly, whistling off-key to himself and mostly looking up at the stars just beginning to emerge in the sky. He was walking fast enough that Enjolras and Grantaire, who were walking much slower, quickly fell behind, which was fine with both of them, as they were deep in quiet conversation, the kind that had Grantaire grinning and Enjolras positively ebullient, the kind that naturally culminated when Enjolras leaned in and kissed Grantaire.

Grantaire kissed him back with the sort of familiarity borne of many similar encounters, his head turned at just the perfect angle, one hand resting lightly on Enjolras’s arm while the other balled in Enjolras’s coat, pulling him closer.

But all too soon, Bossuet realized that he was walking by himself, and he turned to frown at them, narrowing his eyes in a vain attempt to see them better despite his missing contact lens. “Hey, you two!” he called. “What are you guys whispering about back there?”

For indeed, from his angle, it looked as if they were just in a very intimate conversation. They, of course, were not, since Grantaire’s tongue was too far into Enjolras’s mouth to prove conducive to talking, though both men stepped away from each other at Bossuet’s call. “Nothing,” Enjolras called back to Bossuet, still grinning. “Just telling Grantaire what he’s missing by leaving early.”

Grantaire elbowed Enjolras in the ribs and rolled his eyes before actually leaning in to whisper something to Enjolras, then turned and jogged up to where Bossuet was waiting, pausing only to wave at Enjolras, who started heading back to the Musain. “What was that about?” Bossuet asked, amused. “You two seemed friendly.”

“Yeah,  _friendly_ ,” Grantaire scoffed, his eyes twinkling.

Bossuet seemed to miss out on the subtext, since he looped his arm through Grantaire’s and told him seriously, “Give the man a chance, would you? He seems to be trying. Besides, I like when you’re friends. It makes things easier on the rest of us.” Grantaire wasn’t listening, instead staring off into space with a goofy smile on his face, and Bossuet nudged him. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course,” Grantaire said instantly, giving Bossuet a bright smile. “And trust me, I’m going to try to keep this thing with Enjolras going for as long as I can. Ok?”

Bossuet grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

* * *

 

Enjolras leaned against the concessions counter at the movie theater, barely resisting the urge to break into the box of Skittles he had just purchased as he waited for Grantaire’s ridiculously large popcorn. Suddenly, he felt someone tap his shoulder, and turned around to grin at Feuilly and Bahorel. “Oh, hey!” he said. “Are you coming to see a movie, too?”

“We just did,” Feuilly told him, sounding bored. “That new film with Nicholas Cage.”

“Oh, really?” Enjolras asked, making a face. “That looked  _awful_.”

Bahorel shrugged. “That’s half the appeal. It’s our tradition.” He looked around. “I don’t see Combeferre. What nature documentary did he drag you to?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I’m not here with Combeferre. And I’m seeing that new Marvel movie.  _The Defenders_ , or whatever it is.”

Feuilly raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you hated comic book movies. And I thought you hated the capitalistic horror that is movie theaters and their markup on popcorn and candy, not to mention basic entertainment.”

Shrugging, Enjolras grabbed some napkins and tucked them into his pocket. “I am not a comic book movie fan or movie fan in general, true. But Grantaire really wanted to see it, and sometimes a guy has got to make sacrifices, you know?”

“Here,” the girl behind the counter interrupted, handing Enjolras a giant tub of popcorn. “I made it just how your boyfriend likes it — put butter on it halfway through and shook it up nicely.”

He smiled at her as he took the tub. “Thanks. He’ll appreciate that.” He turned back to Feuilly and Bahorel, who were frowning at him. “What?”

Feuilly shrugged, but Bahorel asked, “Why didn’t you correct her?”

Enjolras looked blankly at him. “Correct her about what?”

“She called Grantaire your boyfriend.”

Now Enjolras looked confused, his brow furrowing as he asked, “Why would I correct her?”

Bahorel started to answer, but Feuilly nudged him in the ribs. “Don’t worry, we get it,” he said smoothly. “Correcting misassumptions of same sex relationships can be seen as a negative judgment on those kinds of relationships, right?”

Enjolras blinked at him. “Um, well, you’re right about misassumptions, but—” Whatever he was about to say was cut off by his phone pinging, and he glanced down at it. “Shit, the movie’s starting. I’ll see you both later!”

He headed into the theater, leaving Feuilly and Bahorel staring after him. Then it was Bahorel’s turn to nudge Feuilly in the ribs. “Asshole,” he growled. “You hate when people assume we’re dating, so don’t give me this bullshit about misassumptions or some shit.”

“The reason I hate it is because anyone with half a brain would realize I am  _way_  out of your league,” Feuilly said haughtily, and quickly darted away before Bahorel could punch him, all thoughts of Enjolras and Grantaire fleeing as they chased after each other in the theater lobby.

* * *

 

A knock sounded on Combeferre’s bedroom door and he glanced up to see Enjolras standing there, looking a little nervous. “Hey,” he said. “Can I come in?”

Since Enjolras was prone to walking into Combeferre’s room without knocking or permission several times a day, Combeferre frowned and took his glasses off. “Sure. What’s going on?”

“I, uh, I wanted to make sure you were ok with something.” Enjolras sat down on the edge of Combeferre’s bed, fiddling with the bedspread before blurting, “I invited Grantaire over tonight.”

Combeferre stared at him. “Ok…” he said slowly, waiting for the part he was supposed to be giving permission for, since their friends were pretty regular attendees at their apartment.

Enjolras blushed slightly, and Combeferre’s frown deepened. “Well, um, it’s just that, we, uh, we might end up being a little loud, and I know you’re studying,” Enjolras mumbled, avoiding Combeferre’s gaze.

Combeferre couldn’t help himself — he laughed, and reached out to pat Enjolras on the shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he reassured him. “I mean, I know how you and Grantaire can be. Don’t worry. I’ve heard pretty much all of it before.”

This didn’t seem to reassure Enjolras — in fact, if anything, he looked even more embarrassed. “Right. Well. I’m gonna get ready.”

“Give my best to Grantaire,” Combeferre told him, already looking back down at his book. “And make sure to lock the door after he leaves, since I won’t be checking to make sure it’s locked before I go to bed.”

As it turned out, Enjolras and Grantaire weren’t loud. In fact, they were quieter than normal, not even arguing loudly, and Combeferre was able to concentrate fully on his work. He didn’t even hear the door close when Grantaire inevitably left for the evening.

No, the problem started after he turned off his light and went to bed. The wall between his room and Enjolras’s was not particularly thick, which was not normally a problem, but on tonight of all nights, it sounded like…well, clearly Enjolras had chosen that night to explore some of the links Courfeyrac enjoyed sending them both to free porn videos on the internet. The moans and grunts and more bodily sounds were quiet but clearly distinctive enough that Combeferre felt equal parts annoyed and slightly turned-on.

The next morning, he was up early and grumpy when Enjolras made his way into the kitchen. “Look,” Combeferre said in lieu of greeting, “you know I don’t care what your preferences are, but the next time you want to have a late night porn-watching session, would you putting some headphones in so I don’t have to hear it?”

Enjolras froze. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice surprisingly squeaky.

Combeferre waved a dismissive hand. “Last night,” he said impatiently. “I heard. Most everything. More than I probably ever need to hear. And while it sounded very tastefully done, I didn’t really need—” He cut himself off as Grantaire stumbled barechested into the kitchen, making a pitiful noise until Enjolras laughed and poured him a cup of coffee, and waving half-heartedly before disappearing again. “Oh,” Combeferre said slowly. “I get it.”

“Get what?” Enjolras asked, a little anxiously.

“Look, I don’t mind that Grantaire spent the night, but seriously, make  _him_ wear headphones when he’s watching porn. Or better yet, ask that he doesn’t watch porn in our apartment. It’s a little weird.” Combeferre drained his mug of coffee and clapped Enjolras on the shoulder. “That was nice of you to let him sleep in your bed, though.”

Enjolras just stared at him. “Um. Right. Nice.”

Combeferre laughed. “Drink more coffee. You’re a little inarticulate this morning.” He went to pour himself a bowl of cereal, not noticing the strange look still on Enjolras’s face.

* * *

 

Jehan had drunk three complimentary glasses of champagne by the time he found Grantaire in the throng of people, so he was in a particularly good mood and the embrace he gave upon seeing him was particularly strong. Grantaire laughed and patted him on the back. “Thanks for coming,” he told Jehan, pulling at the collar of his button-down shirt. “I hate events like this.”

“Art shows can be very stressful,” Jehan agreed, “though you look quite nice. That color suits you.”

Grantaire tugged slightly on the green tie around his neck. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I borrowed it from Enjolras. The man has quite a collection of dress clothes despite wearing that stupid red hoodie half the time.” He sighed, but the corners of his mouth twitched with a smile, and he asked Jehan, “I suppose you would like to see my art?”

Jehan grinned. “It is the purpose of the evening, after all. Lead away!” He followed Grantaire through the crowd, pausing when Grantaire stopped abruptly in front of a section of art that Jehan would have recognized anywhere. “Oh my god,” he breathed, taking one step forward, his expression awed. “R, it’s gorgeous.”

Blushing furiously, Grantaire muttered, “It’s really not.”

“It really is,” Jehan said firmly, still unable to look away from it. “And the subject — I’d recognize that anywhere. How in the world did you get Enjolras to pose naked for you?”

If possible, Grantaire blushed even more. “I was hoping you wouldn’t recognize that it was Enjolras,” he said, in lieu of answering the question.

“It’s quite abstract and very tastefully done,” Jehan assured him. “There’s just something about it that’s  _so Enjolras_. The set of the shoulders, maybe, or the expression? Hard to say, but you  _nailed_  it.” He squeezed Grantaire’s hand. “And I suppose finally getting to see Enjolras naked didn’t hurt.”

He had meant the words to be joking, but Grantaire just snorted and shook his head, his expression distant as he looked at the painting. “There’s a difference between seeing someone naked and seeing someone pose nude for art,” he pointed out. “Trust me, the latter doesn’t begin to compare to the former, which is good, because otherwise it would be very distracting.” He cleared his throat and tugged on Jehan’s arm. “Come on, let’s go see something else so I’m not spending the rest of the night thinking about Enjolras naked.”

Jehan let himself be led away, but he was grinning as he told Grantaire teasingly, “Like it would take a painting to make you think of that. You’ve got quite the imagination.”

He paused to snag another glass of champagne and thus missed Grantaire’s smirk and muttered, “My imagination didn’t know what it was missing…”

* * *

 

“Dr. Joly?” the nurse said, poking her head into his office. “You have a visitor.”

Grantaire stepped around her and grinned at Joly, who smiled back at him. “Hope you don’t mind, Jolllly, but I needed a quick medical favor.”

Joly sighed and rolled his eyes. “I knew going into medicine was a mistake,” he said dryly, before transferring his smile to the nurse. “Thanks, Laura. You can leave him with me.” Grantaire strolled into Joly’s tiny office and plopped down on the edge of his desk, and Joly leaned back in his chair to look up at him. “So what medical favor can I do for you?”

“I need a prescription.” Joly frowned, something in his expression darkening, and Grantaire quickly shook his head. “Not like that. I need allergy medicine, something a bit stronger than the over-the-counter stuff. For daily use.”

Though Joly nodded and turned back to his computer to put the prescription in electronically, he asked Grantaire, “What do you need allergy medicine for? I thought the only thing you were really allergic to was—”

“Cats, yeah,” Grantaire sighed. “Well, you know, sometimes things happen. Enjolras has a cat, after all, so I figured, probably a good idea.”

“Oh, are you cat-sitting?” Joly asked vaguely, concentrating far more on the computer than Grantaire, who gave him a strange look. “Because normally Combeferre does that when Enjolras goes out of town. I also didn’t realize that Enjolras was planning on going out of town soon.”

Grantaire was still looking almost incredulously at Joly. “No, I’m not planning on pet-sitting anytime soon,” he said slowly, and Joly shrugged.

“Well, whatever you want to do.” He clicked the button to send the prescription to the pharmacy and turned back to Grantaire, suddenly serious. “You know all the potential side effects for allergy medicine, correct? You also know you’re not supposed to drink as much?” Grantaire rolled his eyes and nodded. “Good. Now be careful with this whole cat situation, ok? I don’t want you to rush into anything, because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Grantaire’s expression softened. “Joly, I somehow don’t think he’s going to hurt me.”

“She,” Joly said, and Grantaire frowned, confused, until he elaborated, “Enjolras’s cat is a she. I don’t want her to hurt you.” Grantaire opened his mouth as if to say something, but Joly patted him on the knee and told him kindly, “Now get the fuck out of my office so I can get actual work done, ok?”

Grantaire obediently stood and gave Joly a mock-salute. “Absolutely, sir. Have fun with the rest of your day.” He sauntered out and Joly shook his head slightly as he went back to the patient files he was going over. Grantaire didn’t know the first thing about cat-sitting, but that wasn’t Joly’s to worry about.

* * *

 

“God rest ye, merry Enjolras, I come to you with joy; and to invite you to my house, you lucky lucky boy; for Christmas celebration since you hate your family — oy! Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy, oh tidings of comfort and joy!”

Enjolras didn’t even look up from the book he was reading at Courfeyrac’s loudly sung song. “Could you really not think of another word besides ‘oy’ that rhymed?” he asked mildly.

Courfeyrac looked offended. “That’s really all you got out of that? I meticulously changed the lyrics to ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ to invite you to my place for Christmas, and you’re judging for one word choice?”

Shrugging, Enjolras turned the page in his book. “I preferred last year’s attempt at changing ‘Go Tell it on the Mountain’ to ‘Go Tell it to Enjolras’.” He finally looked up at Courfeyrac and winked. “But never fear, it’ll be just as successful as last year’s attempt.”

Courfeyrac’s pout deepened, because every year, he asked Enjolras to come to his family’s for Christmas dinner, and every year, Enjolras politely declined, choosing instead to spend the holiday alone on years when he managed to avoid his parents’ disastrous parties. “I just thought, maybe this year would be different…” he sighed.

“This year is different,” Enjolras said calmly, though the tips of his ears turned pink. “I’m actually going to be spending Christmas with Grantaire and his family.”

There was a long moment of silence before Courfeyrac wailed, “I’ve never been more insulted in my life! You would choose him, over my repeated offers! Why?!”

Enjolras patted Courfeyrac gently on the knee. “Because he asked me first this year,” he said gently. “And because he’s really looking forward to it and it would break his heart far more than yours if I said no. Besides, he’s promised to let me drag him to the Enjolras family Easter celebration, and you’ve used every excuse known to mankind to avoid that little soiree.”

Courfeyrac considered it for a moment. “Fair point.” He still pouted, but far less so than before. “What’s Grantaire’s Christmas got than mine doesn’t?”

“Well, for starters, Grantaire,” Enjolras muttered, but Courfeyrac ignored him, instead muttering to himself, “Next year’s Christmas will be the best damn invitation ever, and I’m gonna invite you in, like, July. Bastard.”

Enjolras just patted Courfeyrac’s knee again, his attention already back on his book.

* * *

 

They were all standing in front of the TV in Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment, too keyed up to be sitting, waiting with bated breath for the official signing to take place. Finally, after a long moment, the governor bent over the bill, and their whooping was almost loud enough to drown out the newscaster’s reported, “And it’s official — same sex marriage is legal in this state with the bill just signed by the Governor.”

Courfeyrac was busy pressing kisses to everyone in proximity while Joly ran to pop the champagne, but Enjolras turned to Grantaire, his expression fierce, and in one smooth moment, he got down on one knee and pulled out a ring box from his pocket. “Grantaire,” he said, quietly, “now that it’s legal, will you marry me?”

Grantaire didn’t even hesitate. “Of course!” he said, pulling Enjolras up and letting him slip the ring on his finger before embracing him, as their friends laughed and clapped.

“They must have talked about it,” Courfeyrac said in an undertone to Combeferre. “The political statement that it would make. I mean, Joly and Bossuet could have done the same thing, but there’s Musichetta for them to worry about…”

“And think of the media attention when the leader of one of the most pro-gay rights activist organizations gets married,” Combeferre agreed.

They both straightened as Enjolras broke away from his embrace with Grantaire to turn to them, his face radiant with happiness. “Will you both be my best men?” he asked.

Courfeyrac pretended to swoon and Combeferre hid his laughter as he said mock-solemnly, “Absolutely. It would be an honor.”

Across the room, Joly and Bossuet had pulled Grantaire aside. Both were smiling, but both also looked worried. “Grantaire, are you sure you want to do this?” Joly asked quietly. “I mean, look we get it, and we get the significance, but I’m sure Enjolras can find many people who might be better suited—” Grantaire looked offended, and Joly hastily added, “To the political side of this, of course.”

“It’s political, sure, but it’s  _Enjolras_ ,” Grantaire said, as if that answered everything, and the look he tossed over his shoulder at Enjolras’s back might have just done so — if it wasn’t for the fact that neither Joly nor Bossuet caught it. “And yes, I am one hundred percent sure that I want to do this. And I want you both to be my best men.”

Though both agreed, when Grantaire stepped away, Bossuet said in a worried undertone to Joly, “He’s going to get his heart broken, isn’t he? When he realizes that it’s not real for Enjolras—”

“Hey, maybe he already realizes it and has just found something in the cause that he can get behind,” Joly suggested, though it seemed hollow.

Whether Grantaire realizes or not didn’t seem to matter, since the next thing anyone knew, they were receiving invitations in the mail. “Guess they’re really going through with this,” Bahorel said to Jehan. “Or else they’re taking the stunt  _really_  far.”

Jehan just shrugged, too busy laughing at Courfeyrac, who was doing a dramatic declamation of the invitation, using his haughtiest voice to read it out loud to Enjolras and Grantaire, who were both grinning good-naturedly.

And when the day of the wedding finally arrived, everyone went to the church in good spirits. In fact, the day was very low key, and Feuilly remarked on that in passing to Bossuet. “Aren’t weddings normally a little more stressful?”

“If I don’t get this bowtie tied, it’s going to be stressful,” Bossuet grumbled, though he shrugged in response to Feuilly’s question. “I guess since it’s not a real marriage the wedding doesn’t have to have real stress in it?”

Whatever the reason, things went smoothly, without any bumps in the road, until they reached their vows. The officiant smiled at both Enjolras and Grantaire before telling the assembled guests, “Enjolras and Grantaire have prepared their own vows to read to each other. Enjolras, if you’d like to go first.”

Enjolras practically beamed at Grantaire and took both his hands in his. “Grantaire,” he said, his voice breathy, and Grantaire shook his head, tears already welling in his eyes. “We all know that I am normally very good with words, often long-winded to the point of boring my audience.” The guests laughed good-naturedly. “But when I sat down to write my vows, only three words came to mind, because they’re the only three words I hope we need for the rest of our life together: I love you.”

The sincerity in his voice was absolute, and all Les Amis shifted uncomfortably, beginning to feel like something wasn’t quite right with this sham wedding. “We’ve have unconventional ways of expressing our love to each other in the past, but I think that’s the mark of a true relationship. Love isn’t always meant to be grand or big. Sometimes it’s in getting extra butter for your boyfriend’s popcorn—” Feuilly choked on air and Bahorel pounded him on the back “—or getting prescription allergy medicine because your boyfriend has a cat—” Joly made a squeaking noise “—or just in spending a mutually hated holiday together because your love is and will be enough to sustain you through anything.”

Courfeyrac turned to Combeferre, eyes wide. “I don’t think it’s a stunt,” he managed, and Combeferre just shook his head, flabbergasted.

“I intend on showing you I love you every single day for the rest of our lives because you deserve it and because I really do love you that much. Together we can face everything, and there is no one I’d rather have by my side. I love you.”

Grantaire was crying freely, and Enjolras leaned in to wipe the tears off of his cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, whispering words of encouragement that only Grantaire could hear. Finally, Grantaire recovered the use of his voice. “Remind me to never go second after this asshole again,” he managed, and the audience — minus Les Amis — laughed. “In fact I’m throwing my entire damn speech out the window because I can’t top what he just said and I also really want to get to the kissing part of this shindig. So what I will say is this: ditto, I love you so fucking much, and even though it’s going to take work, I believe in you and I believe in this.”

Enjolras looked over at the officiant, crying as well now. “Please say I can kiss him now, because if not I’m just going to kiss him anyway.”

The officiant laughed. “I now pronounce you husbands. You may kiss—”

They went at it before he even finished, kissing each other fiercely, and the audience erupted into applause — again, minus Les Amis, who were still trying to wrap their minds around what had just happened here.

As the happy couple left the church, Courfeyrac snagged Marius to ask him, in what he hoped was a casual voice, “So, uh, do you know when, exactly, Grantaire and Enjolras starting dating? Officially? I need to know for…my best man speech.”

Marius looked surprised. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s been awhile. They were dating for at least a year before Enjolras proposed, I know that. I could ask Cosette, if you want — she’d know.”

“No, that’s ok,” Courfeyrac said, his voice sounding strained, and he quickly looked around for the rest of their friends. Quickly he herded them all together at the front of the church, where the seven of them stood in awkward silence. Finally, Courfeyrac cleared his throat and said warningly, “No one says anything. Got it?”

“But—” Jehan started, but Bossuet touched his arm gently.

“It’s for the best sometimes to lie. Especially since none of us wants to be the first to admit that we didn’t notice.”

“Or figure it out,” Joly added quietly.

“Or fucking pay an ounce of attention,” Bahorel growled.

They were silent again before Feuilly asked, tentatively, “Do you think they know that we didn’t…know?”

Combeferre snorted. “Of course not,” he said confidently, and they all looked at him. He rolled his eyes. “Come on guys. This is Enjolras and Grantaire. They think far too highly of us to believe we’d be this oblivious.”

“The man has a point,” Courfeyrac said. “And we have a reception to get to for two of our best friends. But just so everyone knows from here on out — I’m watching the rest of you all like a hawk, ok?”

They all laughed and disbursed, though each was still more embarrassed than words could say that they really just had not noticed at all.


End file.
